Thursday, September 21, 2006

A celebration of the thought processes of that special being that we know as the Stagecoach Bus Driver

Last winter I spent many weeks repeatedly emailing Stagecoach asking them to turn the heating on on their X17 buses. There were days on which there was snow on the ground, it was minus several degrees outside, and I was sitting with my foot rammed up against the heater which was stone cold and giving no suggestion that it might start giving out heat any time soon. My general attire at this time was trousers, socks, underwear, a vest, a smart work jumper, a big fat bus jumper, a coat, hat, gloves, scarf and shoes, and yet I arrived home day after day with at least three of my fingers completely white down to the second joint. On one occasion I was chopping chicken and thought I had a piece of it stuck to my fourth finger, but it actually turned out to be my middle finger which had lost feeling so completely that the rest of me thought it was a foreign body. In short, it was really quite chilly on the buses.

Today the temperature was in the mid-20s. It was a gorgeous sunny day that felt like high summer and not the middle of September. I wore tights and was far too hot; we had fans on in the office.

Today, for the first time since last winter, the heater on the bus home was pumping out hot air at full power. I give up. I will never understand them.

1 comment:

Juicy said...

They delight in tormenting you. That is why I do not like busses. The fact I have to use public transport this weekend does not make me at all happy, but I have to grudgingly admit that it's a darned sight better than me trying to find a place that is immensly complicated to drive to only to find that there is no parking when I get there anyway.

They know that you are at their mercy. You have no choice but to get on that bus.